


Easy Now

by AcidGreenFlames



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Broken Bones, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Lemon, M/M, Off Screen Violence, Smut, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), kustard-freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22003345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidGreenFlames/pseuds/AcidGreenFlames
Summary: Edge just wants to see Stretch one more time, and if he's lucky, he'll get the chance.And Sans, he just wants Red to wake up.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	1. Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies, 
> 
> I recently found a whump prompt list, and I do love seeing the battle hardened characters needing to be cared for. So have some angsty angst! 
> 
> I'm still working along the Mage's story, we are getting near the end of the world building part of that series. Just need to finish up the Christmas special and the final slice of life story before we move onto the second arc of that story. And I CAN NOT wait for the angst. 
> 
> Follow me on twitter at @AcidFlames if you want to talk Undertale or fandom.

Edge limped along, panting through his pain, his leg was facing the wrong way and the left side of his rib cage was smashed in, black spots blinked through his vision. It took effort to stay up right, keep moving, he could do that. One step after another, even when agony sung through him, made him want to vomit.

His breathing hitched and he leaned against the wall of the house, smearing marrow along the cheery blue panels. He paused and readjusted Red in his arms as best he could, wincing when his brothers’ light weight brushed painfully against his broken ribs and Edge needs to lean heavily against the wall to keep any magic that roiled in his body down.

Only when he gets his body under control, Edge keeps moving, has to. He has no other choice, no matter how much he hurts. No matter how light Red seems in his arms, how small he seems with his attitude stripped away.

Red was still, too still with marrow dripping steadily from the corner of his mouth and his breathing is slow, bubbling fluid at the edges of his teeth.

When he comes to the stairs, Edge’s hand falls to the thick rail and the thought of stepping up the four, deep steps made him cringe. He does it, one painful step at a time, he climbs up the steps that makes his body sing in agony.

Almost there.

The climb is excruciating, and it makes his vision swim, but some how he makes it to the top of the stairs.

That was pretty neat. 

His steps are shuffled and slow, and they bring him to the heavy oak door. He feels drained away, hurting to the point of agony and he can’t get his vision to focus. Yet, he made it here. Made it all the way to the one place that would be _safe_. He could have gone to Undertale, hell, Red would have preferred it, but Edge wanted to be here; and in all honesty, how often does Edge get what he wants?

When he manages to find the energy to lift his fist to knock against the door, it’s barley more then his knuckles scrapping against the wood.

His legs are trembling, and Edge silently pleads with an angle he no longer believes in that he’s home, please, _please_ just this once. Give them a break.

The leg that’s bent the wrong way finally gives out on him, and Edge catches himself on the edge of the door, his good leg trembles under the strain. Still, jamming his shoulder into the door frame, he lifts his hand to scrape his knuckles against the wood of the door again, and he hopes against hope, that just this once, fate will smile on them.

Please. Just once.

There’s no answer, the lights inside the house are dark and grief squeezes at his soul. Red is still as the dead in his arms, and there’s not way he can make it back to the basement to try to make it to Undertale. No way for him to save himself, never mind his brother.

Greif makes him tremble as he drops his skull against the wood of the door, clenching his sockets closed, “Please.” He whispers brokenly against the door, and he refuses to let the wetness that has gathered under his sockets to fall.

“ _Please_.” Edge doesn’t know who he’s begging to save them, if there’s anyone even listening.

He knows better then to plead or beg, has seen monsters beg for their lives just before the end and swore he would dust with what scraps of dignity he had left.

He knows fate is cruel, and somewhere, someone is laughing at him. He’s sure this is some kind of karma coming around for them, for everything they had ever done, the LV they had gained in their quest to survive.

In their vain attempt to keep the people of Snowdin alive.

It was all for nothing, everything was ash, and soon so would they be. He just wished, maybe, he had just a little more time. Just wanted to see him once more, that would have been at least bearable. 

“Edge?” his name is called out, soft and hesitant, almost afraid and Edge can’t imagine what he must look like right now.

Still, he gathers the energy to turn to Stretch, leaning heavily into the door, his leg shaking so badly he knows it’s only a matter of time before it gives out under him.

He swallows, his throat clicking with the effort to moisten the dryness, “Stretch.”

At the bottom of the steps, Stretch is staring up at him in open shock, his eye-lights flashing between white and orange, his mouth dropped open.

Edge is beginning to sway, and he can’t think of what to say, what would make this a little better. His skull feels thick and fuzzy, and it’s getting harder to think, “Most of it’s my marrow.” He slurs, and it’s getting hard to stand.

His garbled words seem to shake Stretch from his stupor, and the bag of groceries that he was carrying hit the ground, and he’s running for them. His long legs propel him up the four, deep steps of their front porch without touching a single step and to Edge, and he knows he’s safe to collapse now.

His leg finally legs go as Stretch catches him, slowing his fall to the cold ground, cradling Edge’s broken body against him. Red is still and rasping wet breaths between them but Stretch just tucks them both against his bright orange hoodie, smearing their marrow across it.

Stretch is trembling as his hands gentle Edge’s skull, like he’s not sure where to touch Edge first, and Edge can feel him swallow as Stretch presses his skull into his chest.

“I got you.” His voice is surprisingly steady, and the trembling eases from his hands as Stretch wraps his arms around them both. “I got you.” He says again, pulling out his phone to likely call his brother, the better healer of the two of them.

Edge reaches for his forearm, relaxing into Stretches body now that he’s safe, and something soft fills his soul. At least he got to see Stretch once more before he dusts.

His tongue feels thick and his magic unsteady, but he manages to ask, “Call Sans? Red…” he can’t finish the sentence, his voice giving out as his magic pulled inward to keep his soul alive.

Stretch is nodding desperately, reaching up to mop at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, “Yeah. Sure.” His hand is warm on Edge’s cold skull and he sighs leaning into the touch, “I’ll call him. I promise.”

Nodding, Edge lets his sockets slip shut. If Stretch is promising him something, he’s Sans-ish enough to keep it.

His breathing gets choppier as the pain claws at him, his broken ribs and shattered leg are fighting over which one hurts the most, and he can hear Stretch, calm and firm, speaking to someone one on the phone. The pain is building into agony, and Edge is starting to feel sick with it, delirious. 

“I tried to stop it.” He muttered into Stretch’s shirt, and he can feel Stretch give him a gentle squeeze.

“I tried.” Edge slurred again, his vision swimming, “The kids. He took the kids. Asgore he.” Greif crushed his soul, and Edge knew without a shadow of a doubt, that was the part of him that was the most damaged. His soul pulsed in pain, burning out the agony from his leg and ribs, “I _tried._ ” He gasped into the orange material, one hand clinging to his brother while they other clung to Stretch.

“Hey.” Stretch said softly to him, “Hey, Edge, it’s okay. Easy, easy now. You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay. I got you.”

Edge can hear the worry in his voice, the panic that he’s refusing to allow to bubble through, and Edge lifts his head weakly. He managed to peel open his sockets, staring hazily up at the beautiful, perfect face of the skeleton that held him.

Stretch offered a weak smile, one hand coming to cup his bloodied, tear stained face, and Edge can feel himself giving, crumpling to his grief, “I tried.” He whispered again.

Stretch’s face twists into hurt as well, he may not know what the hell is going on, not yet at any rate, but he can piece it together, “I know you did, you did good Edge.” There’s no nickname, no mocking, just plain, soft comfort.

His large, warm hand cupped softly at Edge’s jaw, drawing him into a brief, chaste kiss that Edge had been desperate for the moment the fighting started. He sighs into the kiss and doesn’t realise that he tastes like fear sweat and blood over the spice of his magic.

He doesn’t realize that Stretch’s breath hitches with his own fear, but moves softly against Edge’s mouth unit the dark, inky nothingness takes him.

-

It’s dark by the time Edge opens his sockets; they feel heavy with exhaustion and sleep sings its siren song, beckoning him back into its soft depths.

Still, he fought against sleep, determined to wake a little more and ensure their safety. Determined to see Stretch.

Pushing against the blankets, Edge panted a little as even that seemed to take far too much energy to shove them down and sit up.

“Hey,” a soft voice startled him, causing Edge to flinch painfully away from the voice. Stretch crushed his smoke into his ashtray, stepping away from his open window. He quickly closed it before turning and making his way to the bed on the floor, “You need to be resting.”

His voice is soft, and somewhere inside, where Edge isn’t quite so broken, bristles that Stretch is using the kid gloves with him. The rest of him is too tired to fight with it.

“’m fine.” Edge slurred as Stretch sat next to him on the mattress on the floor, and it took Edge a moment to realize they were in Stretch’s room. It wasn’t sparkling clean like his room is, ~~was,~~ back home, but it’s neat. Cleaner than it usually is, “You cleaned.” He slurred.

It makes Stretch blink owlishly at him before he snorts, “Yeah, that’s the thing you focus on.” He shakes his head and sighs, “You’ve been out for a day and a half, I’ve had a lot of time to,” he pauses and shrugs, “Putter around. Figured you’d be happier to wake up in a clean room.”

Edge nods, as though any of this makes sense, and he’s just so tired. Too tired to deal with any of this, and all he can do is stare at Stretch. He looks tired and worried, eye lights are dim and Edge starts talking before his brain can catch up, “You need to sleep. You look tired.” And even he’s impressed he managed to get all that out as clearly as he did.

Stretch snorts at him, “Edge, you’re the one hurt. Stop mother henning.” Edge blinks at him, hurt and drowsy, his energy quickly draining, leaving him feeling weak. Stretch frowns at him, the hand to Edge’s shoulder is gentle as he pushes him back down into the bed, “Come on Edge, lets go back to sleep.”

Edge goes willingly and Stretch hates the exhausted obedience as the tension starts to slowly leak from his bones. His voice is still weak, and the eye-light in the scared, damaged socket blinks out when its too much to keep it lit up, “Where’s Red?”

Gently petting his face, Stretch tries not to see how dim and diffused the other eye-light is, and he doesn’t know if it would be better or worse if that one faded as well, “Blue’s room.” Stretch tells him softly, “Sans is camping out with him, he’s safe.” No need to tell Edge how badly hurt Red is, how they almost lost him if not for Sans pumping nearly all his magic into him, keeping him alive so that Papyrus had something to work with to heal him. No need to worry Edge with the details. 

Edge nods, and the second eye-light loses the battle and fades into the dark blank nothingness of his sockets. Still Edge is fighting sleep, “Come on Edge, go to sleep.” Stretch tells him softly.

His jaw works, like he’s trying to say something, but just a rough croak comes from Edge’s throat before he’s able to roughly whisper, “Sleep with me?”

The words are spoken small and afraid, and any joke or sarcasm dies in its cradle at the vulnerability of his lover’s words. It’s not often Edge is in such a state, and Stretch isn’t that kind of asshole to mock him about it, especially not when they almost lost Edge as well.

“’Corse.” Stretch says instead, quietly pulling off his orange hoodie, and slipping under the blankets with Edge.

It takes a moment to figure out where their arms and legs fit comfortably with each other, Stretch being cautious of Edge’s injuries, and trying not to disturb them. In the end, Edge ended up wrapped in Stretch’s arms, his skull nestled against Stretch’s rib cage, listening to his gentle breathing.

Slowly, Edge’s sockets slipped shut, and he gave into sleep. Stretch couldn’t sleep, not yet, the panic of almost loosing them still too fresh. Instead he quietly held Edge, silently watching over his sleep and burying any lingering anger. 


	2. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans has been waiting for Red to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was supposed to be a one shot. I was supposed to be packing for my vacation and trying to finish up the 12 Days of Gyftmas today. 
> 
> Why am I working on angsty fluff? I have no idea. 
> 
> Anyhow, enjoy some angsty, fluffy smut!

Sitting at the window of a room that is just too clean, Sans craves a smoke. The things he would do for one right now would make a long, highly criminal list, and a checklist of things he wouldn't do would probably be shorter.

He's sure that Red would be proud of his list.

Blue's room made Sans squirm with how neat and clean it was, like the opposite of a fun house mirror, what he could have been if the world tilted right on him.

Leaning against the glass, Sans sighed, tired and stressed, he could have happily climbed into Blue's bed and slept with Red, but fear kept Sans wide awake.

His breath fogged the smooth surface of the glass, and from the corner of the house saw the white puff of smoke, and his magic craves the nicotine that Stretch is happily sucking back.

Lucky fucker.

Sure, he could have left the room, walked the twenty feet to Stretch's and asked for one. That, however, would have meant leaving Red alone and the stupid, bone deep fear of Red dusting kept Sans’s ass where he was.

Sans could lie and say that he didn't want to be rude and smoke in Blue's room, he was the guest here, but that isn't the reason. It maybe the reason Sans gives them, if asked, but it's not the truth.

The truth is, Sans is terrified to leave Red alone. Afraid to find a pile of dust on the bed, that Red would leave Sans here alone.

So, Sans can't leave, not yet. Not until he knows for sure that Red is okay, that he'll live. Then, only then, will Sans leave him on his own, maybe alone long enough for Sans to go have a chit chat with the nasty version of King Asgore.

He's willing to bet Stretch will want to join him.

There's a noise from behind him that draws Sans attention from outside to the bed in time to see Red shift in his sleep. He's pulled the blankets down around his waist, the sheet tangled around his legs with a foot sticking out into the cool air of the room.

His face grimaces, his brow furrowing as he suddenly twitches as if he's in pain, and it has Sans on his feet and crossing the room to the bed they've tucked Red into.

He looks oddly small in Blue's bed, diminished and fragile. It had stunned Sans the first time Red had taken him to bed, and Sand found he was the bigger of the two. His bones a little denser, he a little taller, a by product of not starving during his growth spurts.

Red groaned again, teeth gritting against the pain before his sockets blinked open slowly.

Dazed, diffused eye-lights looked around in confusion before they landed on Sans. He gave Red a disarming grin, perching on the edge of the bed but careful not to touch. Not yet, not until he has permission. Not until he sure Red won't shank him for being too soft or moving too quick.

"Hey." Because really, that's the best Sans can come up with. He's only been waiting for Red to wake up for a day and a half, "How you feeling?"

Red blinked at him, wincing as he shoved himself up onto his hands suddenly, hissing in pain. Sans waited until Red could breath again, deep and slow through the pain from his ribs.

Sans tried to not to let his eye-lights wander to where Stretch's shirt slid off Red's shoulder, too broad and long for Red, but at least it was clean. He tried not to look at the marrow stained bandages peaking up from under the shirt from where Papyrus and Blue ran out of steam and couldn't heal anymore.

They'd come back and finish the healing when they rested up, just getting the worse of the injuries, bandaging him up until then.

Wild, crimson eye-lights looked around the room, panting hard through his pain, his voice reedy, "Where's Papyrus?"

It's awkward to hear Red call his bro Papyrus, and Sans never quite gets used to it.

"Next door with Stretch. He's safe and sound, patched up as best we could." Sans paused, "Blue and Paps will finish patching you both up when they've got some rest."

Red blinked at him slowly, the tension of not knowing where his brother is leaking from him slowly, but his body still wound tight in pain. He looks exhausted, but Sans isn’t stupid enough to think that asking or telling Red to back to sleep will do any good. Fuck, if anything, he’s more likely to be a brat and stay awake longer.

Instead, Sans quietly reaches into his inventory and pulls out a small flask of whiskey with an apologetic smile, “We don’t have anything for the pain.”

Dim eye-lights lift to the flask, and for a second Sans thinks Red won’t take it; if he doesn’t, he’s getting Papyrus, that’s too big a red flag to ignore.

Slowly, as thought every movement hurts him, and in reality, it probably does, Red takes the flask. Pulling open the lid, he takes a deep, hard swig, actually wincing when he takes a mouthful before he’s able to control his reaction.

Sans uses the distraction to shift a little closer, pulling his foot up so that it brushes at Red’s bruised hip and he cautiously lays a hand on Red’s knee. Red keeps drinking in deep, greedy gulps, and Sans relaxes when his touch is accepted. He can’t fully touch, not yet, but at least the careful hold brings a little comfort to Sans; because touching him means Red is alive and not dust on the ground.

Only when he’s finished gulping back the whiskey, Red hands back the empty flash and slouches back against the wall. Stretch’s shirt shifts again with the movement, showing Sans more of the bloodied bandages hidden beneath.

That’s, in the end, what breaks Sans. He can’t sit there, see the marrow stained dressings and not touch him. He can’t.

Shifting over, Sans changes positions so he sits next to Red, pressing his hip into Red’s, pushing the outside of their femurs together and he tried to pretend its bone on bone, not his bone against the soft cloth of the gauze.

He crowds in at Red’s side as much as he’s able, touching as much of him as possible, leaving no space between their bodies as he presses in. Red doesn’t so much as flinch, just quietly keeps his arm wrapped protectively around his ribs and his head down.

His breathing a slowed a little, and Sans hopes the whiskey is helping a little. Slowly, very slowly, Red unwinds just a little, leaning into Sans’s side before going lax against him with a huff. Sans thinks that he may have fallen back to sleep, but Red’s hands are trembling, and Sans isn’t sure if its from pain or if reality is catching up with him.

Still, Sans hasn’t been stabbed yet, he’s been accepted into Red’s space and he isn’t stupid enough to waste his chance. Sans shifts closer still, shifting his arm around Red to slowly, carefully, draw him into his chest. Red goes willingly, for once in his life, and that strange, quiet obedience freaks Sans out. He doesn’t like it, it’s _wrong_.

He wonders if Stretch is seeing the same thing.

Red is still and quiet, his head tucked against Sans’s chest when Sans finally asks, “What happened?” 

Shifting his head, Red glances up and Sans fears that what ever strange spell has been cast over the other has been broken by his question. Part of Sans almost hopes it is, he wants _his_ Red back; mouthy and crude. Vicious, and ready to destroy anything that dare harm them.

Instead, what ever fight that may have been building dwindles and Red presses back into Sans’s chest. The action makes Sans’s soul clench, and he leans his head down to nuzzle into the back of Red’s neck. He still smells of marrow and stress sweat and dust, and Sans would have happily given up his non-existent smoke to bath him.

Maybe later, after Red’s gotten a bit more sleep.

“Asgore.” Red says suddenly, voice gravelly and weak, “Started to take kids to force them into his private army. Some, bull shit, about raising soldiers to be perfectly obedient.” Red shrugs, wincing with the movement, “Boss didn’t want to give up the runts in Snowdin. So, the fucker sent Undyne to deal with him. They were fighting when I was packing up our shit.” Red pauses, seems to remember something, “I got the portal to your world open when Asgore showed up. Got Doomfanger shoved though before I closed it up again. Figured Boss would want me to keep his fucking cat alive.”

Sans nods against Red’s skull, “Yeah, we found her when Stretch called and told us what happened. She’s pissed by the way.” Red snorts, but only presses further into Sans, “We got her set up in Paps room with food and water. Found a box for her too, Paps is gonna go back later today to take care of her.” 

Red nodded, falling quiet against Sans long enough that Sans thinks he’s fallen back asleep, “Boss managed to convince ‘Dyne that this was wrong. That taking kids is wrong, when Asgore showed up. They tried to take him on, fucking idiots.” Sans freezes, and his arm around Red tightens as the other falls quiet again.

When he speaks, his voice is so soft Sans almost misses it, “I helped raise that fucking kid. I helped make sure she didn’t fucking die, her and Boss both.” Red pauses, controlling his breathing, “Fucker dusted her. She fought hard, kept Boss alive, gave him the chance to get us to the basement after I got the shit kicked outta me.” Red shrugged, burying any hurt or feelings that are trying to bubble to the surface under a layer of indifference.

Sans wants to say something, anything, but he keeps silent. Just quietly holds Red, knowing that any compassion, any sympathy, will be soundly rejected. Whatever Red’s emotional state is, he’s going to try to bottle it up until he can’t anymore, until he either explodes or tries drinks is problems away. 

Sans sighs, silently mourning Red’s Undyne, hurting _for_ Red when he had been doing so well. Fucking Asgore.

Sans’s arm curls around Red a little tighter, tucking him into his side and Sans hates how willingly he allowed himself to be handled. How he _allows_ himself to be handled with kid gloves.

Red is quiet and still against him, sockets half lidded as he stared at nothing in Blue’s room when he suddenly moved, sitting up right with a hiss of pain, grabbing desperately to the front of Sans’s white t-shirt. Sans gasped, bracing for pain or an attack when Red yanks Sans down to press a desperate kiss against Sans teeth.

Freezing, Sans goes stiff as Red unwinds, hissing into their kiss in pain as he clings to the front of Sans’s shirt and shoves his other hand into Sans’s shorts.

Pleasure sparks up Sans’s spine, his body and magic reacting to Red’s actions as sharp fingers brush tantalizing against his sacrum, making Sans gasp and his brain short circuit. Red takes advantage of Sans’s suddenly open mouth, slipping his tongue past blunt teeth to deepen their kiss, and he tastes like whiskey and spice.

Red hisses again in pain as his ribs pull, but his grip on Sans’s shirt is strong and the fingers between his legs are gentle. It’s enough for Sans to moan into their kiss, his magic leaking from his bones with heavy want and his hands land heavily onto Red’s spine and scapula.

Red jerks hard, a pained cry pulled roughly from his throat as he flinches away. Sans freezes, suddenly remembering that only a day and a half ago, Red almost died. Sans almost lost him, and he was still fucking hurt.

Shaking himself as though he was trying to shake off the pain, Red crawled into Sans’s lap, straddling him and gripping at his shoulders. Sans’s hand reached up to Red’s chest as he leaned forward for another kiss, ignoring the pain that burned through his body.

Sans pressed his hands hard into Red’s sternum, being careful of his broken ribs, shaking his head no, “Red stop.” His whispered to him as they shared a breath, mouths brushing they’re so close. 

Desperate, uncertain, eye-lights glance up at Sans, and his brow furrows, “Why?” his voice is rough with pain that the whiskey has done little to curb.

Sans swallows, “You’re hurt.” And it’s the wrong thing to say, and Sans knows it when Red’s open gaze suddenly snaps shut.

Whelp, oh well. Sans is committed now.

“Sans,” Red growls, deep and dangerous, and the anger he’s been bottling is starting to bubble.

“No.” even Sans is surprised by how firm his voice is, “Not right now Red. You need to be resting.”

Red continues to glare at him, coiled tight like a spring, “Sans.” He growls again, but Sans shakes his head no.

“You almost died. Do you understand that? I almost watched you die.” His own voice takes an almost panicked edge and he swallows it back, “You need to rest. Go the fuck to sleep Red.”

Red blinks at him, fury that is only building in earnest, and Sans braces, waiting for Red to find the scathing words that will make him feel a little better about the situation. Make him feel in control of things, when Red throws him a curve ball.

He suddenly goes limp, like a puppet whose strings have been cut and Red’s head sinks into Sans’s chest so Sans can’t see his face.

Please?” Red’s voice is muffled, and Sans freezes at the word, “Sans. Please.”

It’s fucking cheating, that’s what that is, but Sans can count on one hand how many times Red has said please to anything. To anyone. _Ever_.

Fuck, he’s willing to bet that Edge hasn’t heard Red say please before.

Sans sighs, his arms going around Red as if he could protect him, as if Sans could keep him safe and presses his teeth onto the top of Red’s skull. Maybe Sans could, while this strange vulnerability has him a little weakened.

“You need to sleep.” It’s a weak argument, that has Red shaking his head no.

“I don’t want to fucking think any more.” Its soft and desperate, and it breaks Sans as readily as the fucking bandages.

Huffing a sigh, Sans looks up to Blue’s celling, as if it will have the answers or give him strength to deny Red when he’s asking for anything _nicely._

There’s no biting sarcasm, no hard words, just quiet desperation and it has Sans rolling Red over onto his back, pressing him gently into the too soft mattress. He’s cautious of Red’s broken ribs, making sure not to put any pressure on the broken bones as he straddles Red, catching his wrists to pin them by his head.

Red sighs, and there’s a dozen micro expressions that cross his face, before it lands on contentment, sockets half lidded and he relaxes into Blue’s bed, “Yessss.” He hisses between sharp teeth, pressing his hips upwards into Sans’s.

“Ass.” Sans grins at him fondly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his throat, trailing softly down to his collar bone.

Red humms, trying to press into Sans’s touch, “Come on, harder.” He whines.

Sans leans back up, pressing a kiss to his mouth to silence him, “Nope.” He mutters between too gentle kisses, “You wanna get laid?” Red gives him a look, “Then we do it my way.”

Red rolls his eye-lights, but settles back down against the bed, and lets Sans continue his soft exploration of his body. It’s slow and soft, softer then either of them are used to, softer then Red usually _lets_ him be.

He strips Red down slowly, pulling off Stretch’s shirt from his battered bones that Sans refuses to look at and pushes down his shorts. His mouth is soft and plush on Red’s, touching him slowly and softy until Red is whimpering and needy.

By the time Sans presses inside, he’s gasping and clinging to Sans’s shoulders desperately, burrowing his face into Sans’s throat and Sans does as Red had pleaded with him to do; he doesn’t let Red think of anything beyond the soft glide of their bodies together. Doesn’t let Red think beyond Sans’s name, and when he tips over the edge of his climax, he drags Sans down with him.

Sans goes happily along, and in that brief moment of bliss, doesn’t think beyond anything besides Red’s name, pressing kisses into his throat through his orgasm.

The bliss ends too quickly, and Sans rolls them to their sides before he relaxes into the bed, careful of Red’s ribs. They’re both panting softly and Red curls instantly back into Sans, who tries not to think of how needy Red is and how out of character that is for him. What that says about his mental state.

Yet, Red is loose and relaxed, sockets sinking shut as he burrows into Sans.

“Blue’s gonna be pissed.” Red murmurs into Sans’s ribs, sounding sleepy but satisfied.

Sans makes a noise at the back of his throat, arm curling around Red, “Yeah, he might give us one.” _All things considering_ is what Sans doesn’t say, but it still has Red snorting.

“Maybe.” Red mutters, but his fingers cling to Sans, maybe a little tighter then normal.

Sans breaths him in, clinging back just as hard, and his voice is small, “You okay?”

Red doesn’t say anything for a long time, but his hands flex around Sans, “Not really.”

Sans nods against him, “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not even a little bit.” He murmured quietly.

“Okay.” Sans won’t pry anymore, if Red want to talk, he will. The offer is there, “Get some sleep.”

Red doesn’t need to be told twice, sockets closing and if Red fakes it for a while, Sans doesn’t blame nor bother him. It’s rare that Sans gets to hold him like this, rarer still that Red allows it for so long, and Sans won’t think about the why.

Not right now, at any rate. Maybe later.

For now, he’s just going to hold Red and thank what ever power brought Red home to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this similar to Someplace Safe? Maybe. Do I feel bad? Not even a little.


End file.
